


Celebrate You, Baby

by citrusjava



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8 Days Of Wincest, Bickering, Bottom Sam, Episode: s02e15 Tall Tales, Hurt Sam Winchester, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, POV Sam Winchester, Praise Kink, Season 2, Top Dean, brotherly bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusjava/pseuds/citrusjava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. But Sam needs Dean to look at him in that specific way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrate You, Baby

Sam never talks about Dean's dirty socks in the sink, the gun oil all over Sam's sheets, his moldy take-away boxes whenever they stay at the same place long enough for mold to form. 

It's not worth the way it gnawes at Sam's insides, fighting with Dean. It's easier when they're fighting about something big – Dad, Stanford, "you're not getting yourself killed over this". Sam can coast on adrenalin and conviction and do what needs to be done. But when it's Dean pacing and throwing around stupid accusations, Sam has time to think about it, way too much time. Time to start feeling lonely for the way Dean looks at him, most of the time. For the way Dean likes him. 

When Dean focuses on Sam, really focuses on him, it's both terrifying and comforting. Dean has the ability to zero in and pull the tiniest details out of Sam's soul. And you'd think someone who could do that would be understanding, but Dean isn't nice about them, either. "You were happy Dad didn't come home on time". Sam had a test the next morning. Dad being gone meant he was out drinking and Sam could get some last minute studying in. It didn't mean Dad was in mortal danger, like Dean always thought. "You liked it when your hot demon friend told me I treated you like luggage", well, no, not exactly. But it was good to have someone on his side, just for a moment. 

When it was just him and Dean, Dean's opinion sometimes felt like the only possible truth in the world. 

It always ended with something like "Well, that's great, Sam". It was amazing, unbelievable, that a person could look so worried, so flirty and so condemning at once. 

And Sam would get annoyed, so annoyed. Cause Dean was being childish, mulish and arbitrary, seeing the world in black and white, like always. Cause being annoyed helped. Cause a large part of Sam, the part that always ran away and slipped through Sam's fingers, just wanted to curl up at Dean's feet and make Dean like him again. Just wants Dean's hand on Sam's back, reassuring. 

Sam puts everything he has into squashing that part. Making it shut up. Holds it in place by clenching his arms and glaring out the front window. Holds it in the clench of his jaw. In his meticulous calculation. Grabs on cruelly, twists with pliers, wraps his thighs around it, sits on it. Because that part – that's the part that wouldn't have allowed him to go to Stanford. That's the part that stops him from kissing people who aren't Dean. That's the part that's stronger than Sam, and if Sam's gonna win, he needs to throw himself into arguments before he has the time to think about it. Needs to blame Dean and never stop to think. 

But now he's had over a week to think. About the way Dean wasn't shocked, when he thought Sam killed a hunter. Wasn't surprised that Sam called for help, covered in blood that wasn't his.

About Dean not being there to catch Sam, to make sure Sam didn't do something horrible. Sam killed someone – or didn't. And if Dean wasn't gonna stop him, how can Sam ever feel safe again? 

 

They both threw themselves into this stupid fight instead of talking. Sam leaving crumbs in the car and Dean chewing too loudly, Dean's idea of research at the bar and Sam being a tight ass prude and Dean not listening, but this has been going on for too long. Sam's not one to admit it, but he doesn't care anymore, about the socks and the money and his laptop. He needs Dean – to look at him like Sam's a good person. A person at all. Or to decide Sam isn't. Decide, and deal with that. Needs Dean to shut the fuck up about the car, at least. Sam's nerves are so frayed he's gonna scream, or break something, something bad. 

He grabs for the money in Dean's hand, cause that's what they do, and Dean dodges, whirls back, slams Sam against the wall, using his weight to hold Sam in place. Sam's about to slide away, when Dean grabs Sam's wrists together, above his head, and a sound breaks out of Sam, his jaw unclenching. 

He can see his expression mirrored in Dean's, pure eyes through wild fringe. Dean presses Sam's body against the wall. He looks solid and rough, annoyed as fuck and not having that. Sam just wants to – 

"You took the air out of Baby's tires" Dean says, incredulous, and this is no joke. Dean is completely serious. He's the most immature, annoying – 

"I told you, I didn't do that!" Sam spits out. He could just - 

Dean squeezes Sam's wrists harder, just a little painfully, his face lighting up for a blink, in the pleasure of allowing himself that small cruelty

Sam makes another sound, not exactly a sob, a sigh, and sags in Dean's hold, sliding a little down the wall. He needs Dean's judgment, needs to know Dean will do something if Sam's not all right. Wants Dean to know Sam didn't do anything to his car. Wants Dean to be pleased with him again. Like some sort of - 

Dean looks at Sam with such intent, the bottom of Sam's stomach melts with fearful pleasure. This is home, under this gaze of Dean's. This is the safest place he knows. 

He blinks, can't believe his eyes are getting wet. Sam went to collage, and he's not an idiot about crying like Dean is. It makes sense to cry, and men should cry when they have a good reason. But men are men, and he, Sam, should never cry, definitely not over something like Dean thinking he messed with the Impala. Because Sam is not six, and Dean is – and Dean is just Dean. 

The reasoning doesn't help. 

Dean reacts to Sam's tears like he always does, free hand dropping the money and flying to cup Sam's face, tilt it to get a better look, make sure Sam's all right. "Sammy?"

And before Sam gathers himself enough to pull away, he relaxes into the touch, into Dean's voice. And Dean catches that, cause he's Dean, and Sam is his. 

"You really didn't do it" he says, wondering. And Sam's fourteen, shaking his head, eyes on the swirly pattern of the carpet. 

Dean's thumb on Sam's cheekbone softens, touch turning into an unofficial caress, wiping away the wetness. 

"I wouldn't, Dean", Sam says. His voice sounds rough and warm. Still avoiding Dean's eyes, he watches Dean's throat move as Dean swallows. OK, eyes. He makes himself look up. "I wouldn't" The Impala is important. One of the few things Dean claims for himself. One of the few things Dean needs for his world to remain stable. Sam knows. He wouldn't mess it up. 

Dean considers Sam's face. Nods, slowly. "OK". 

Sam nods too, trying to gather his grown up sensibilities. He doesn't have to hear Dean say anything more. It's Dean. He doesn't say things. Part of living with Dean is knowing that. 

But Dean hasn't let go of Sam's wrists yet, and his hand is still on Sam's face. For a second, Sam wonders if perhaps Dean's going to – and he swallows down a hungry sound. 

And for once, it's good that Dean can sometimes see as deep in as Sam goes. 

 

"Always with the talking, Sammy", he says, soft. And he's smiling, just a little bit. Not charming, not for Sam. A gentle smile, a little sad, thinking back, and so fond Sam would slump to the floor if Dean wasn't holding him stable. 

"You're an annoying son of a bitch", Dean says, voice like when he used to ruffle Sam's hair. "But you're a good kid, Sammy". 

And Sam would kick his ass, if he wasn't too busy breathing. 

Dean's eyes go wider, hand sliding down to Sam's chest, anchoring, cupping the beat . 

 

"You are... huh. You're a good, good boy, Sammy", Dean tries, experimental, but there's enough emotion and truth in the words that Sam can't suppress a warm shiver. 

"Sammy..." Dean says, wondering, almost a question, full of tenderness. "You're ok, you're my good boy", and kisses Sam on the top of his head. 

***

Later, running to the Imlala before the cops find the trickster's corpse, Sam pauses outside, guts twisting. Needs to know they're ok. 

"Look, Dean, um", he searches for words that don't come. "I just wanna say that I'm..."

Dean cringes, tiny flinch, bracing for the uncomfortable moment, and Sam can't finish the sentence – can't make things worst. 

But Dean pauses, looks Sam in the eye. "Hey. Me too". 

And the tension in Sam's stomach eases a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is me day 2, season 2 entry for the[ 8 Days of Wincest Challenge](http://samdean-otp.livejournal.com/484628.html).  
> Special thanks to Balder12, who introduced me to the fantastic concept of praise kink. There's all sorts of other kinks in there, that I don't have names for. Tell me, if you have them.  
> Heh, tt feels fandom-anachronistic to write praise kink for season 2.  
> I really wanted praise kink that wasn't praise for sex, or for serving the dom in the scene. Couldn't find any, trying to figure out how to write it now, hope this works :)


End file.
